


Candy Red: Teasers

by TwinKats



Series: Candy Red Caste [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, LITERALLY, Teasers for Candy Red, and I guess warning for slavery?, and current works, and just craziness of confusing snippits, and weird treachery, in this series, just nibblits of future stuffs, or however that word is spelt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because I can't always contain stories within a 'Planning' stage as just that, 'Planning', I give you Teasers. Literally blips and blurbs that pop into my head for future works of Candy Red. These are mostly main stories, might even include conversation ideas/side-conversations from the current active story in Candy Red. Nothing will reveal significant information, at least not what I don't intend to reveal.</p><p>These are in no order timeline wise, at all.</p><p>Current blips:</p><p>1 - Dear Bulgefucking Panshitting Guardian, Don't Fuck Up, Sincerely Your Friend, King Adviseer<br/>2 - Psiioniic Beginning<br/>3 - Waiting for the End<br/>4 - A Promise Kept</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dear Bulgefucking Panshitting Guardian, Don't Fuck Up, Sincerely Your Friend, King Adviseer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King Adviser left behind a message to his best friend. His last message.
> 
> I'M SORRY. ABOUT EVERYTHING.
> 
> I REALLY FUCKED THINGS UP DIDN'T I?

GUARDIAN,

I AM ENTRUSTING TO YOU THE SURVIVAL OF MY SOUL HEIR AND BLOOD MATCH. WITH THE CULMINATION OF THIS LETTER SHALL COME HIS HATCHING, THE LAST HEIR OF MY BLOOD AND SIGN. HE WILL USHER INTO THE NEW AGE AND LEAD THE TWELVE TO THEIR VICTORY. OR SO HE SHOULD. SO DON’T FUCK THIS UP FOR EVERYONE YOU FUCKING SHITSTAIN OR I’LL COME BACK AND HAUNT YOUR ASS INTO KINGDOM COME I SWEAR.

DUE TO CIRCUMSTANCE OF WHICH YOU SHOULD UNDERSTAND OLD FRIEND I, NOR ANY OTHER CANDY BLOOD, WILL FUCKING SURVIVE INTO THIS NEW ERA TO RAISE THE GRUB. THIS DUTY THUS FALLS TO YOU. AS LOATHED AS I AM TO ADMIT IT, YOU NEED TO KEEP HIM FUCKING SAFE FROM THE FACTIONS WHICH WOULD RATHER HAVE HIS DEATH UPON THEIR HANDS. THAT INCLUDES NOT GIVING HIM SOPORIFIC SUBSTENCES GRUBFUCKER. AND KEEPING HIM AWAY THOSE ASSFUCKS THAT BROUGHT ABOUT THE END OF OUR PEOPLE AND ALL THE FUCKING GOOD WE HAVE DONE FOR THE EMPIRE.

OPEN YOUR SPONGE CLOTS AND PAY ALL YOUR FUCKING ATTENTION TO THIS PART IF YOU PAY IT TO ANYTHING. HER RADIANT IS NOT TO FUCKING KNOW. IT IS FROM WITHIN HER OWN COURTS THAT THESE DANGEROUS FUCKING FACTIONS ORIGINATE. NOT THAT SHE EVEN LISTENED TO ME WHEN I TOLD HER, THE STUPID BITCH. SO FUCKING TEACH HIM, GUARDIAN, TO BE WHAT WE COULD NOT. PLEASE. YOU AND THE QUEEN ARE THE ONLY ONES LEFT WHO UNDERSTAND. WHO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED AND WHAT THE DANGERS ARE. YOU AND THE QUEEN ARE THE ONLY ONES WHO KNOW HOW MUCH WE FUCKED UP. DON’T LET HIM MAKE THOSE SAME MISTAKES FOR FUCKNUGGETS SAKE.

YOU HAVE BEEN A LOYAL FRIEND THESE SWEEPS WHICH IS SAYING SOMETHING. A WONDERFUL COMPANION IF I EVEN ENTERTAIN THE FUCKING IDEA OF BEING GENEROUS. I AM. FUCK. I AM HAPPY TO HAVE HAD YOUR SERVICE, AND I AM SURE SO WILL HE IN THE FUTURE TO COME. KNOW THAT I DON’T TAKE THIS SACRIFICE LIGHTLY. I AM AWARE OF THE DANGERS OF MY FUCKING ACTIONS, BUT THEY ARE REQUIRED BY NECESSITY. I. FUCK. GUARDIAN. GAMZEE. I AM NEARING THE END OF MY LIFESPAN. I WISH IT WERE NOT SO, AND THAT I WOULD SURVIVE TO SEE HER RADIANT’S HEIR RAISED INTO HER POSITION OF POWER AND. BEING THE HEIR SHE SHOULD BUT. SHIT. THIS IS HARDER TO WRITE THAN I IMAGINED. IT’S JUST.

WHAT I HAVE SEEN. WHAT I KNOW.

OH. NEVER MIND YOU. YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT THE WHY’S. YOU NEVER HAVE. JUST. TAKE CARE OF HIM YOU NOOKWHIFFING MORON. RAISE HIM RIGHT. PLEASE. IF IT’S THE LAST THING YOU DO FOR ME, DO THIS.

AND. I'M SORRY. ABOUT EVERYTHING.

I REALLY FUCKED THINGS UP DIDN'T I?

FORGET THAT. I. UGH. GOD DAMMIT.

YOU BETTER KEEP ME WAITING.

<>

GOODBYE ASSHOLE.

KING ADVISEER  
KARKAT VANTAS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has ties to both Candy Red Fate & Candy Red Heir. I say it has ties to both because, well, it's literally the tie between the two. The bridge if you will.


	2. Psiioniic Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He started as Mituna Captor, a psionic slave.
> 
> He became the Psiioniic--His Psiioniic.
> 
> He never regretted that. Not once.

He started as Mituna Captor, a psionic slave. His entire life so far had been spent serving one master or another, in the camps, in the program. There was no freedom, no hope or escape. Not since the day he was two sweeps old when he witnessed the murder of his lusus, and entered into the life of servitude.

When Mituna was nine sweeps, bordering on ten, he was under the rule of a cerulean blood. She was his second official master, strict and demanding, exactly what the empire said Mituna needed. On a night during the Dim Season, when the red moon was highest in the sky, Mituna was sent out to gather supplies from the Market. Leaving his masters Hive he saw nothing, but on the return, laden down with bags and even more bags floating alongside him covered in his psionic aura, Mituna caught sight of a crowd.

For a Gemini he had always been curious, and perhaps that was what put him here and now. It was with curiosity that Mituna paused and then edged his way towards the back of the crowds. Through a gap he could see a raised platform with a troll standing atop it and two others, who stood to the side. The two who stood to the side were obviously in their adulthood. One a tall regal looking jade blood, which caused Mituna to blink in surprise. He’d never seen one of the caretakers before, they were always deep within the caverns with the Mother Grub. Next to her stood an olive blood, dressed in furs and torn clothes. She looked feral and vicious and it was such a strange contrast between the olive and the jade that it took Mituna a minute before he looked towards the third troll standing on the platform.

This troll, Mituna thought, had to be a highblood. Except there was no discerning color on the smaller, and younger troll, to denote the status of his blood color. The boy still had pupa grey eyes, wore a grey cloak about his shoulders, and his pants--black lined with candy bright red--were hiked up to just under his armpits. Atop his head sat two of the most tiny, dull looking horns Mituna had ever seen.

But his voice, oh his _voice;_ it was what caught Mituna’s attention next. Sweet and soft like honey it dribbled into his auricular clots and refused to leave. Mituna hardly even noticed the words the troll was speaking at first, too enthralled by that voice. The more he talked, the more Mituna found himself spellbound. He hardly noticed the time passing by, even when he realized that the young troll on the box was speaking things that would get most trolls culled in an instant.

The crowd, Mituna noticed when it finally dispersed, had not once rioted.

Young and exuberant the un-blooded troll made his way instantly to Mituna when the crowds where gone. Mituna, who did not leave with the others but remained rooted to the spot.

“Did you enjoy my sermon?” the troll asked. It took Mituna a minute to find his voice and respond.

“You. The crowdth,” he stuttered out. “You controlled them with eathe. They didn’t even riot at the traitorouth wordth you thpoke!”

The other troll frowned, but it was more probably at the term ‘traitorous words’ than anything else. He smiled a second later, choosing not to take offense.

“I merely spoke the truth,” he said earnestly. “Some part of them, they recognized that, and so they listened. Like you.”

“Not me,” Mituna denied. “I’m happy.”

“Are you?” he asked, pressed more like. Mituna frowned, his brow furrowed.

The only life Mituna had known was the life of a slave. He lived, breathed, and worked for others whims and others whims alone. In the end he would become a Helmsman, desired for his powerful psionics. It was the best that Mituna could be; he wouldn’t be a Prophet, even though he already was with his vision twofold. His words to the empire would never matter, not unless a highblood chose to take notice. Even then it would be more than likely that he’d be installed to a ship, and any prophetic words or visions that came to him would be recorded, dissected, and ignored. This was the life that Mituna knew was his, and he was resigned to it. He would serve the empire until his last breath.

“Come and listen to me speak again tomorrow,” the smaller troll said, clasping his hands and smiling. Mituna found himself smiling too, at the eagerness of the other. “Perhaps you will change your mind.” Mituna nodded once, an agreement he wasn’t fully aware of making until he made it. Oh well, it would prove interesting, but ultimately would change nothing. Mituna knew where he belonged.

The two others, the green blooded guards of the young wiggler Mituna supposed, made they’re way over to Mituna and the smaller troll. The older, or he suspected older even though she didn’t look all that old, looked Mituna over and then placed a hand upon the smaller troll’s shoulder.

“Have a nice talk, sweet grub?” she asked nicely, ignoring the blush on the wigglers face. “It is time to go now. Besides, I think your new friend needs to return to his master.”

The younger troll rounded upon the jade blood as the olive let out a sharp gasp of surprise. He snapped, “Mother! That is a horribly rude thing to say!” but Mituna was no longer paying attention. He had not noticed the time pass, and so pale with the realization that he was late, he took off running and then into the air, gliding back to his masters Hive. He didn’t see the disappointed look on the younger trolls face.

Mituna returned late, and the following punishment put him out of work for a week. To do even the simplest of chores required the use of his psionics, his body was broken and battered too much to move otherwise. His days were spent healing in subpar sopor, and he wasn’t allowed to leave the hive. Disappointment settled down into Mituna’s blood pusher. His dreams were filled with the smaller troll’s honey coated voice and his sweet, deceptive lies, but he knew the boy would not be there.

When the week ended and Mituna could move again, he found himself sent once more sent to the market to gather materials for his Master. On the return trip yet again he saw a crowd, and standing upon a platform was the wiggler from before with his two mid-blood guards. Once again Mituna paused, at the back of the crowd and let that sweet, sweet voice hit his auricular clots. When the un-blooded troll looked up and saw him, standing in the back, he ended his sermon.

It was abrupt, a simple, “I’m afraid I have to finish early today. Something has come up,” and the crowd dispersed to grumbling. When the crowd was gone the young troll hopped from his box and raced to Mituna. He paused mid-step and stared. His gaze tagged Mituna shoulder, which was cradled subtly, and Mituna’s leg, which he put practically no pressure on. Pity shown in his eyes, and he reached out to touch.

Mituna jerked back, but even faster was Mother who raced to the un-blood’s side and snatched his wrist before it could reach Mituna. They were silent, in a stare off, and with a wordless glance Mother let go and the wiggler sighed.

“This is what I meant,” he said sadly. “This treatment. It’s wrong. You are just like me and Mother and Disciple! There is nothing that separates us, the hemospectrum is merely a system designed to abuse warmbloods. We’re all troll in the end! Sure some live longer, some have defenses against psychic abilities, and some have psychic abilities, but mutations like psionics or psychics, while prevalent in warmbloods, crop up in coldbloods too!”

Mituna squashed down the urge to stay and listen to the smaller troll preach. He squashed down the part of him that screamed ‘yes, yes!’ and instead said quickly, “I need to go. I can not be late again.”

Mituna moved to turn, but the smaller troll offered his hand. “Come with me,” he said. “Come with me and be _free._ ”

Mituna swallowed heavily. He stared at the hand, then he closed his eyes. Oh how he wanted to go, wanted to follow this troll and his sweet lies and honeyed words. Instead he shook his head, stepped back and away.

“I can not,” he said. “I. You’re wrong. Thith ith my plathe. Thith ith where I belong.”

The smaller troll took a step forward, opened his mouth to refute what Mituna said, but Mother reached in and held him back with a gentle arm. “Let him go, sweet grub,” she said. “Let him work as worker bees must.” Grey eyes turned angrily upon jade, but after a second the small troll sighed and nodded his head.

Mituna left. He didn’t see the three trolls again.

He denied how disappointed he felt.

* * *

Time moved onward. Mituna’s tenth wiggling day came and passed without notice and he entered into the final stages of the transition between pupahood to adulthood. He hit his final molt, and his second to final horn growth. At night he did his Master’s bidding, and in the day he dreamed of honeyed voice and sweet, deceitful lies. The memory of what the young troll preached made him begin to question everything he’d been taught, everything he thought he knew he understood.

Mituna found himself becoming of two mindsets; one where he was the slave, and the other where he ran away and joined the younger troll. He found himself in a mental war, and it was beginning to hurt.

_This was traitors thoughts and traitors talk -- did he really desire to be culled when he had life so good? He was on the way to being a Helmsman! He had the sight of Vision Twofold, he was the prophet of his era!_

_But was his life truly so good? Was it right that he should bow to any troll higher than a lime, that he should work with no reward and no pay -- that he should be used for his mutation, and psionics were just that, a mutation that the Empire found useful instead of a culling offense -- was it right that he, unlike others higher and occasionally lower on the hemospectrum, would never be free?_

The words haunted him, and it grew into his waking hours as well as sleep. He found his vision slipping. He began to see the life of the younger troll, the history and the future. His sight spiraled further and further away from the here and now. It showed him a path, dangerously treacherous, deceptive, deceitful, but it was a path he saw _himself_ on.

The day his vision showed him standing behind the younger troll, a smile curving at the corner of his lips, and dressed in clothes fit for a free troll, Mituna’s mind was made up. He turned, and walked away. He left his Master, the hive, everything. He started walking upon a path only he could see. The path that would take him to where he was meant to be. He did not look back.

* * *

For a sweep, perigee after perigee, Mituna walked. He ate only when his stomach became too pained to move. He slept only when he collapsed. He wrapped himself in flora and fauna alike to protect himself from the harsh rays of the sun, but he didn’t stop. Mituna was on a mission, and he would make it to where he needed to be.

One night he stepped foot into the village, covered in the furs of flora and fauna alike. He looked like a feral troll, but his psionics were what kept the majority of trolls at bay as he walked. His gaze was cold and hard, but weary and searching. Once he’d been ask, “Where are you going?” by a highblood, and once he responded with, “I’m traveling to my Mathter.”

When he wandered through the marketplace he heard a familiar voice. It was honey sweet, deceptive, deceitful. Mituna paused in his movement, he turned and headed toward the crowd. He stayed in the back, but there on the platfoom stood the young troll he remembered. His eyes were candy bright, as bright as the red on his pants. He spoke with his hands, with his eyes, with his smile and his voice. He spoke with all that he was.

Eventually the troll’s sermon came to an end, and the crowd dispersed. The now adult wiggler bent down with the Mother and his Disciple and took apart the stand they had crafted. Mituna took one step forward, and then another, without even realizing he had done so. He stood behind the smaller troll and waited to be noticed. The Mother and the Disciple paused and turned to look at him, dirty, weary, and hungry. The candy bright young man between them stood slowly and turned when he noticed his companions looking behind him.

Their eyes met, and his widened in shock. Mituna breathed in deeply, and then knelt onto the ground. He bowed his head.

“I, Mituna Captor, pthionic, entrutht mythelf into your eternal therivithe,” Mituna said with a bit of a rasp.

Mother and Disciple let out a sharp gasp and half-voiced clicks and whirrs in the back of their throats in surprise. The younger troll in front of them perhaps did not know what the turn of phrase meant that Mituna had said, but they did.

Standing before Mituna, the smaller troll smiled and offered a hand.

“I offered my hand to you once, and you said no,” he said softly. “I offer it again to you now and say this. I, formerly Kankri Vantas, now the Signless, accept you, Mituna Captor, now the Psiioniic, into my service.”

Mituna’s--no the Psiioniic’s--head jerked up, surprised at the bestowment of a _title_ for that is what ‘the Psiioniic’ had to be. He liked how the Signless drew out the sounds, made it melodic, peaceful, _wanted._ He smiled, clasped hands, and stood. This was what his vision wanted him to do, this was where he was meant to be; standing side by side with cullable candy bright, spreading the word of a better Alternia that could be.

The Signless grinned back. “I knew it,” he said, pulling Psiioniic into a hug. “I knew you would accept, the minute you said you were happy. I knew it.”

Psiioniic laughed and hugged the Signless back. “It wath your honeyed voithe and thweet, detheptive lieth that convinthed me in the end. Couldn’t get them out of my head.” He pulled back and smirked. “It wath like a perthithtant computer viruth or an annoying bit of code.”

“Well now you’ll have to hear it everyday!” the Signless laughed. Mother and Disciple moved up to the two of you slowly.

“Joy. What wath I thinking?” Psiioniic replied teasingly before all four were enveloped into a group hug.

This was the beginning of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally meant to be the starting chapter of Candy Red Black. I later changed my mind and decided it would be chapter two. Once again I changed my mind when I realized it, quite honestly, doesn't fit in Candy Red Black much at all. So it's now just a little side-shot/oneshot settling into the Teasers file. It doesn't fall under 'Bright Little Dips in the Well' because I actually wrote it intending to be part of the main stories.


	3. Waiting For The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You kept me waiting.”
> 
> “ _So_ sorry to keep you waiting, Advi _seer_.”
> 
> "That’s alright I suppose. I’ve come to accept this long ago. It was always going to be you, wasn’t it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware, twist-like shock. It's not revealing anything too plot-restrictive. You might think it is though.

Karkat sighed and set down the pen. He closed his eyes. It was written. It was done. His lids opened to slits and he glanced over at the egg sitting atop his desk. The Queen, Kanaya, had brought it by the minute the ‘Mother Grub’ had laid it. He stroked one dull claw across the bright red protective sack.

“Don’t worry, Kankri,” he said softly. “You’ll be in good hands soon. I.” Karkat let out a soft curse and glanced to the clock. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Maybe. He breathed out through his teeth. “Hold in there, grub,” he continued. “Soon. I promise.”

With a tired sigh Karkat picked up the egg and tucked it into a secret compartment of his desk. They would not be able to find it there. With a shuddering breath he slid the paneling shut and entered in a quick password.

**SURV1V31T4LL**

With the egg safe, Karkat breathed out slowly. He closed his eyes, and then opened them a second later. His hand gripped the hilt of his sickles tightly where they hung at his waist.

“You kept me waiting.”

“ _So_ sorry to keep you waiting, Advi _seer_.”

Karkat turned around. He swore to himself when he realized it was always meant to end this way that he would face his death head on. That he would look into his killers eyes and make them _know_ just what they’d done.

When he saw her, he couldn’t say he was surprised. Karkat had guessed, and apparently rightly so, just who would be his end. He laughed bitterly, his hand tightening over his scythe. It was always going to be her. He grinned, all dull teeth bared as he stared right at her bright red shades.

“How many of them did you slaughter?” he asked. “How many have you turned your back on?”

“They were all _traitors_ you know,” she replied, bearing her own teeth, sharpened fangs, right back at him. “Every last _one_ of you.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree,” Karkat replied. “But that’s alright I suppose. I’ve come to accept this long ago. It was always going to be you, wasn’t it, Terezi?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally this is the would-be first part of the very first chapter of Candy Red Fate. Nothing revealed here would be twist revealing, since it's the beginning. Candy Red Fate is intended to sort of work backwards the other stories, beginning at its end if that makes sense. At least, that is the Plan so far.


	4. A Promise Kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You plan to have _him_ as your Helmsman, the filth was closest to this traitorous scum, and I bet he’ll sooner fly you into the sun than serve you.”
> 
> “Your conchesern is noted, and duly ignored,” the Condesce drawled, her eyes narrowed this time behind goggles. “Now go. We’re not doin’ _this_ here. We’ll have a feelin’s jam anotha time.”
> 
> “We won’t if you are dead.”

“Shall I burn him?” the Grand Highblood asked. Beside her the Psiioniic growled, a whirring, clicking sound deep in the back of his throat.

The Condesce laughed. She kicked at the Psiioniic who didn’t even grunt at the blow and replied, “No, Kurloz. His body shell be dealt with by ma new little pet. Do take your leave, I have no need of you furtha.”

The Grand Highblood frowned. “You are keeping something secret.”

“State secret, buoy. Ma business is ma own.”

“I worry you are putting yourself at risk with your games,” the Grand Highblood said.

“I know water I am doin’,” the Condesce said back, a frown to her lips.

“You plan to have _him_ as your Helmsman, the filth was closest to this traitorous scum, and I bet he’ll sooner fly you into the sun than serve you.”

“Your conchesern is noted, and duly ignored,” the Condesce drawled, her eyes narrowed this time behind goggles. “Now go. We’re not doin’ _this_ here. We’ll have a feelin’s jam anotha time.”

“We won’t if you are dead.”

“Kelp your concheserns for a feelin’s jam, Kurloz, and go. I am tired of listenin’ to your glubbin’, guppy. I’ve got work to do.”

The Grand Highblood took off, a low growl--deeper than the Psiioniic’s from earlier--rumbled in the back of his throat and through his chest. Once he was gone the Condesce moved, dragging the chain that wrapped around the Psiioniic’s neck and hands with her. She forced the yellowblooded troll to practically crawl after her, occasionally stumbling and being dragged by her superior strength. Calmly she picked up her trident and then flung it in the Signless’ direction. It hit true on the chains holding his hands far above his head. With a loud clank and sparks the chain severed and the body tumbled lifelessly to the ground. She strode up to the platform, and the still sluggishly bleeding corpse with all the leisure of a woman with no care.

“Pick him up, buoy,” the Condesce demanded, releasing the chain for the Psiioniic. There was no point in holding up a facade any longer. She knew the yellowblooded slave would obey her without question. Sure enough the Psiioniic knelt down next to the Signless’ body and lifted it up into his arms. He ignored the bright red candy blood that stained his clothes, the wounds still fresh or the weapons still embedded in his flesh. He ignored how the Signless’ hands still remained chained, or that his shoulders were dislocated.

“You will keep your promithe?” the Psiioniic demanded, cradling the Signless to his chest.

“Of course, as long as you hold up your end of the deal, buoy,” the Condesce grinned. The Psiioniic bowed.

“Yeth, Mathter,” he said, humbly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might not believe it, but this is actually part of the first chapter of Candy Red Black. So far this story is planned to waffle between Psii and Sign, either alternating chapters or something else. I mostly have Candy Red Black plotted (in my head so that means some things are subjective and malleable except what I have noted down) and when it strikes me I write some inbetween gnawing my teeth over Candy Red King and my novel.


End file.
